


Viking Imagines and One Shots

by xHonestSecretsx



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Breeding, Creampie, F/M, Imagines, NSFW, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Sibling Rivalry, alpha!ragnar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-02-11 18:40:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 9,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12941337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xHonestSecretsx/pseuds/xHonestSecretsx
Summary: This is basically a dump site for my imagines both sfw and nsfw. The work is sfw unless otherwise listed.





	1. Imagine testing Ivar’s patience (NSFW)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! This will be a dump site for assorted imagines that can be found on tumblr: HonestSycrets.

This was a game to you. You enjoyed rattling his bones and forcing his hand to move in blind anger against someone else. It was just a matter of who could push the game that much further. You were arranging to move your pieces along the board tonight. 

“Should you be so close? He’s watching.” Bjorn says as he raises his drink to his parched lips. His drink spills down his firm chest when he feels your feminine hands crossing the expanse of his trousers. Despite your warrior’s heart, your touch is soft and caring of him. He pulls the ale away and bends his head down. 

“So let him watch.” You whisper against the shell of his ear. At the end of your statement, your moist tongue outlines the shell of his ear. His eyes turn up across the table to catch the flicker of his brother’s sharpened icy blue eyes daring him to muse your ministrations further. Bjorn didn’t want to but your confidence was enticing. Your hand slides down along the outline of his swollen cock restrained by heavy fabric. Once again he brought his ale to his lips, and finally his ale slides down his throat in a few forced gulps.

“But you are his,” Bjorn protests. Your hand clasps around his excited cock. Your hand drifts up and down his length with a kiss gently set against his upper arm. His eyes catch the heavy glower of his brother, whom rakes the table with his nails kicking up shreds.

Although he speaks to Ubbe, his full attention falls onto the scene you incite. His chest raises and falls quickly as if he was a volcano ready to erupt. You turn to face Ivar.

“Am I?” You look to Ivar for his answer. He lurches forward over the table, exhaling air quickly out of his nostrils in his contained rage. His voice falls deep and low. 

“You know you are.” He hisses. At that, you smile knowingly.


	2. Imagine Ragnar catching you masturbating (NSFW)

Your body felt on fire. It soared through your chest down the pits of your belly to your womb. The space between your legs was hot with the sop of your wet arousal. You sobbed with your fingers between your wet lips seeking release. 

“Does it feel good to go behind my back?”

From the door way your foggy eyes could hardly make him out. But, oh, you could smell his musky smell across the room. He smelled like all of the wonderful things you knew he smelled like. Your cunt twitched around your fingers as you turned your eyes to him, whimpering. You did what he said not to in his absence. Your fingers were soaking proof. 

“Y-You’re back my lord,” You call, pulling your fingers slathered with cum out of your cunt. His boots click against the ground closer and closer. You quiver helplessly on the bed. His rich scent filled the room like the smell off a fire in winter. 

“Alpha, breeding bitch, I’m your Alpha.” Ragnar corrects, his beard scratchy against your sweating neck. He hovers over you on top of the bed. Your mound thrusts up for his body and you cry out for him even harder. 

“Such a cock hungry slut!” Ragnar says as he pins your hips against the bed. Smack! His hand comes down on your bare skin. The redness stings a familiar, delicious pain. 

“Look at me,” Ragnar redirects you while his over hand busied itself unlacing his trousers. Your hungry eyes flutter across the scruff of his face, drifting up until your eyes catch his sharp blue eyes. Your legs tremor. The heat intensifies in your cunt. Ragnar slides your moist fingers into his mouth, suckling your juices off your digits. His eyes are entrancing. They capture you under his spell until you feel the tip of his cock at your moist hole. Your eyes make the mistake of snapping down to his dick. 

“LOOK AT ME!” Ragnar sternly places his hand over your throat, snapping off any supply to air. Your small, insignificant hands grasp the clench on your throat. Finally your eyes catch back up to his, smoldering with an animalistic quality as he goes back to what he came to do. His cock slides between your velvety walls, sheathing himself within your tight clench. His grip loosens— only slightly. He lurches his hips back before fucking into your warm sex. Each thrust was more forceful then the last. 

“What wont you do again (Y/N)?!” Ragnar’s breath is now at your ear, panting sharply as you rock your hips up into him. It’s not good enough that he put you in your place, no, now he needed you to say it. 

“I’m sorry, I won’t touch myself again!” You choke out, sucking him back in with every thrust out. Your legs held him tight within your body at his hips. Ragnar snarls in approval, allowing his hands to squeeze your sore breasts. He all but destroys the sheer dress you have on to gain access to your breasts, bringing your breast to his lips. His teeth latch to your nipple, squeezing and suckling. 

“You have too much time on your hands. Allow me to help you with another son,” Ragnar chortles, pulling your legs over his shoulders. Your cries intensify at the new angle, Ragnar’s cock nearly slipping out before thrusting back in against your bundles of nerves. His expression is contorted with need for your orgasm. When you cum with explosions of pleasure, Ragnar is close behind. He pumps thick ropes of his cum into your womb, eager to plant yet another child inside of your body. As he finally comes down, he pulls away and falls to your side breathlessly. 

“I would never leave you, Ragnar…” You say. His warm seed spills out of your hole. Ragnar’s eyes are heavy. 

“Which is why I keep you full of my child. Other men need to know.” He grunts, leaning over to kiss your belly affectionately. He knew his seed would take ahold. The seer told him so.


	3. Imagine Lagertha giving you a pep talk (SFW)

A stroke of your bow sent an arrow barreling down the way of a quivering target. You had done this at the very least fifty or more times today. Your arm became raw at the lack of cover for your wrist. When you finally finished casting another arrow down the line, you took to an axe, flipping it in your hand before your arm would extend back. You cast the axe through the air. It whizzed through the air until it made a sharp crack. The axe is outside of your intended hit. 

“If you really want him, you need to go get him, (Y/N).” The voice of your dear friend cracked your peace and quiet. All the memories flooded back as Lagertha stepped out from behind a thick tree trunk. Her face was smug, echoing the face of the other woman who careened you into this rage. You hike another axe up into the air. Your arm swings and you release it again, unsatisfied with the results. 

“Your son has who he wants. I don’t steal other women’s men like Ragnar’s breedee.” You grunt out words, walking over to jerk the axes from the fat tree. Lagertha looks almost prideful at your resolve. The higher road was hard to take. She tosses a sword at you with one hand and flips the other in her opposing hand. You catch the blade and bend your knees as if to loosen up. 

“A true woman wouldn’t. But rivaling for his love is another ordeal when there is no children or marriage in place.” Lagertha reasons. You are the first to lurch forward against Lagerta. Blade clashes against blade, the metal crying until she pushed you out. You hop back onto your feet and slash your blade against hers once more. 

“If Bjorn wanted me, he would have claimed me!” You say. Lagertha bucks back your sloppy strikes, her own much more precise and cast damage with every pound of her blade on yours. You fall back, catching yourself with your forearm as you do. It wasn’t your wish to be impaled either. You’re back on your feet in moments. 

“As could you.” Lagertha laughs, avoiding another sweep of your blade. Your feet come to an abrupt halt. 

“What would you have me do!?” You toss your blade to the dirt at her feet. “He will laugh me off when I tell him, Bjorn Ironside, you are mine.” You are screaming, so much so that the birds of the trees flock far away. Lagertha’s face grows solemn. As you spin around to look in her direction, you see why. Bjorn was cautiously moving forward. 

“Have I missed something?” Bjorn runs his lower lip into his mouth. You just wondered how much of that he actually heard.


	4. Imagine being forgotten (SFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Safe for work: Bjorn x Reader x Ubbe

It had been a mistake to accompany Bjorn for a feast. While the festivities were full of life, the space intended for your husband had grown cold. One of your drinks became another and another until you could almost drown out the feminine giggles spilling out of trifling lips. Almost. You locate Bjorn among proud warriors where he roars tales of his exploits to all who would listen. It was namely the shieldmaidens at his side, fluttering their long lashes at the first-born son of Ragnar and worshiping his feet. As if you could blame them, your husband was gorgeous. 

You had tried the tricks to garnering Bjorn’s attention but many of them proved unhelpful. You would try to glare him down, but only came across as the possessive and nagging wife. You tried dresses somewhat more revealing and would trigger Bjorn into green envious rage. So instead you tried carrying yourself with more dignity. Your lips were sealed, hair was braided with care, and dress was figure forming. Although while you sat as the quiet wife, the bubbles of anger only frothed in your stomach at occasional glances to Bjorn. 

Downing the last droplets of your smooth drink, your eyes caught the calm blue eyes of one of your brother-in-laws. There was an inquisitive quality to them as they were as deep as the sky stretched above Kattegat. Your darkened eyes snap away, and you gulp down worries that he might come over. With all the commotion, it was true that you couldn’t hear him. But you can hear his boots slapping the floor to the tune of the rapid pumping of your heart. Please… please don’t let him come over, your lips bid the gods. Your prayers did not meet the god’s ears. He drops by your side.

“Does it bother you?” He asks as one of his fingers presses away your neatly braided hair off your slight shoulder. His touch is doting and soft. You can’t help but lean just a little farther in.

“He has forgotten me for those… shieldmaidens. I am going home.” Your lips drop into a frown when the crowd ooh’d to the couple tables off. You slide down to pick up the furs that Bjorn had so fondly made you once upon a time and pull it over your shoulder. Your visitor places his own drink down and offers his hand to you. As your hand stretches out, you look to your husband.

“I have not forgotten you.” Your visitor’s words cut through your thoughts. 

“Thank you, Ubbe.” At last you take his hand and raise yourself to his arms. His sinewy arms wrap around your waist as you both flit away for home.


	5. Flower Fall (Ragnar!SFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flower festival in Kattegat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll be adding more NSFW I believe.

The flower festival occurred every year of the spring harvest. Flowers were harvested for mead and alternatively, to woo women. Every woman of age you knew was given flowers. Your friend was given flowers by two different men and your sister one by Torstein. You sat flowerless on the dock, your legs dangling over the edge. At the very least, here no one would know you didn’t receive any flowers. The dock buckled under the shift of weight onto it. You glanced behind to find the Earl making his way towards you. In his hand you find a bouquet of the most beautiful flowers in Kattegat. 

“You aren’t frolicking around like all the other women?” Ragnar asked. You wonder why he is here of all places. 

“No one gave me flowers.” You try and laugh, but your voice cracks and the words are dejected. The water cracks out of the corner of your eyes. You can’t deny feeling rejected. The tears soon run over the apples of your cheeks, dripping down onto your wine coloured dress. Ragnar drops behind you. His hand slides across your thighs, snuggling close to ensure you can’t escape. 

“If I was to say, I brought you flowers, would you finally give me a kiss?” He says in a singsong hum. You gaze out to the sun setting across the hills reflecting on the fjord. He plucks a flower out of the bouquet and weaves it into a twist of your hair. 

“Perhaps I could be convinced,” You lean back into him, setting the smallest of pecks against his lips. Ragnar growls feeling you pull away. His large hand came upon the back of your head, locking your lips together. His lips command an empassioned kiss and you feel your head swimming to keep up with him. 

“Now yours was not a kiss!” He laughs softly, expelling huffs of air against your lips. It’s almost a pouting huff. 

“I’ve never kissed before!” You say in your own defense. 

“Then I will show you how.” Ragnar chides, leaning back against your lips. His kisses are warm and loving. Some last long, others are soft endearing moments where your lips run together. At the end of his kisses, you forgot all about your bouquet on the empty pier.


	6. One or the Other (Sigurd x Reader x Ivar Slightly NSFW)

Talk of Margrethe was wearing on your mind like a sore. Every day it was something else of Margrethe. They had sex with her and you were fine with that! But it began to wear on your mind the more you heard of her. How one woman could be so easily shared between four men still baffled you, even if Ivar didn’t have her in bed any longer. Somewhere in the pits of your stomach you pulled a sick glee knowing that they no longer minded one another.

You wondered what such a woman could offer them. She had nothing to offer, nor did she legally have rights. Why was it that they could not pursue a woman of status? Particularly the younger brothers, Ivar and Sigurd, who did not need her as intensely. 

“What is so great about Margrethe for you Sigurd?” You turn to look at him, hanging up your weighty shield and laying back in the tall grass of the field between the youngest brothers. Neither really wanted to be around one another, you knew, but you refused to choose sides between the two. His other brothers chat beside a thick tree, the sort you expect Yggdrasil to belong to. 

“She is the most beautiful here (Y/N).” He answers and joins you laying side by side. Your heads knock together and for a moment, you feel at peace. As if it wasn’t really Magrethe he was speaking about but you. It was no secret to the brothers that you enjoyed Sigurd and Ivar in a special way. Sigurd’s words make him feel guilty.

“And… you are beautiful as well (Y/N). You’ll find a husband soon.” Sigurd says with the crook of his nose against the side of your cheek. His bright eyes captivate yours. He told you that he found his supposed wife and now he sought to make you feel better. Those words were genuine in a way. His words fell on a sour stomach. Your pettiness reared its head in your next words.

“But not the most beautiful. She must be Freya’s vision to enjoy the dalliances of all Kattegat’s princes.” You reason bitterly when Ivar comes to rest his head upon your soft stomach. Your fingers weave through his dark strands. Sigurd feels as if it’s a moment with his mother all over again when you turn your attention away from him to Ivar. He finds himself jealous that Ivar has such a cooling effect on your nerves. Why weren’t you scared like the others? You should have been. 

“I agree with Sigurd.” Ivar says. It feels like a miracle that they might agree on anything. You bark a laugh out on him. 

“Oh really? That she is the most beautiful?” You suggest as to not let yourself be let down. Enough time around Floki taught you that.

“No. That you are beautiful… and that you will find a husband soon. For now, it is only you and I. Who else could you need?” Ivar hums with his eyes full or ardor. The warmth bubbles over in your belly. It feels like the intense bubbling of water, threatening to overfill and drown you. Instead of heating up, you find your eyes bolting from his own to the fleeing clouds in the skies above. 

“Oh ho. Aren’t you being ambitious in claiming me already?” You say. You pick at your locks of hair, twirling it around your fingers. In a perfect world, this would be your reality between both Sigurd and Ivar.

“I will have you as my wife.” Ivar says. The arrogance could have been insulting, but in a moment where everyone wanted her, it warmed you to hear. 

“And how would you be able to consummate such a marriage? To fill (Y/N) children? Your prick doesn’t work. Leave her to someone who won’t leave her aching for satisfaction and seed.” Sigurd says darkly with his hands behind his head. The veil of peace is shattered, and you look to Ivar’s icy blue eyes that dart open.

“What? Someone like you?” Ivar’s head twists to meet his Sigurd’s gaze.

“At least I could finish.”

“Ivar let it go…” You start, but it’s pointless. He all but lurches off your stomach and digs his fingers into Sigurd’s hair. Sharp tugs rip out blonde hair in his closed fist. Sigurd responds by smashing his fist into Ivar’s jaw. The audible click of his jaw is accompanied by his angered roar. You restrain Ivar’s flying fists when Ubbe hooks his arms around Ivar’s powerful upper body. He drags him across ground with Hvitserk steadying Sigurd. With the two separated apart from one another, you shake your head from one brother to the other. You decide to make the long trip back to Kattegat alone with only the gods as company. In the bloody grass, Ivar looks to his older brother with a light sneer, spitting out bloodied saliva off to the side. 

“Very nice, you idiot.”

———

That night was a celebration of a marriage. Ivar was less than interested in attending, but with his mother’s wishes, he came. His other brothers dallied around while watching the dancing, the fighting and with their drinks never running dry. There was fun to be had and yet Sigurd sat silently searching the crowd. He would make his rounds about the festivities. Ivar noticed that he was looking for someone. 

“I don’t see her.” Sigurd said off to himself. Sigurd sat beside his brother Ivar, no doubt as a ploy to attract her attention. 

“Who?” Ivar asked playing the part. He knew exactly who his brother was talking about. She kept him company on these events, given that his brothers were often running wild. He knew that she would show up tonight regardless of the petty fight that afternoon. It was like all the other times Sigurd said something to make himself sound like a dumbass. She always forgave him, no matter how much it hurt Ivar. 

“(Y/N).” Sigurd says.

“She probably won’t show now that you’ve embarrassed her. You spoke of her like a bitch for breeding.” Ivar snorts.

“I was not trying to embarrass her. It was you.” Sigurd responds and inches up to the edge of his seat confidently, without fear of his brother. He was ready to fight once more when his thoughts crumbled altogether. There is a soft kiss to the top of his head. He knew it was her. She smelled of the flowers of the meadows and the ashy hearth of fire.

“(Y/N), You came,” Sigurd says as she slides beside Ivar, kissing the side of his cheek. She is different somehow. He weighs her appearance. Her gown tailored close to her body in white and soft red, jeweled with soft gems devoting her to the gods. Her soft hair is tousled about her face in waves. The way she holds herself is the same, honest, and pure (Y/N), but there’s something more there. She held pride in her appearance, unlike the envious girl that once carried on before them. She was showing off.

And it runs chills down Sigurd’s back. He was going to lose her.

She didn’t sit beside him. She sat with Ivar. Her hand curls over Ivar’s and she takes her place like a confident queen at a feast. Ivar’s shocked, slack jawed face looks over from Sigurd to his coupled hand. Her finger taps just under his chin and scrapes his jaw with her nail.

“I was at the god’s feet all afternoon Sigurd. They’ve enlightened me. Hello Boneless,” She presses her lips to his in a chaste but teasing kiss. His hand cups her cheek as he leans forward, sliding his tongue across her lower lip before begging for access. She willingly gives into him and the kiss deepens. Neither seem bothered in the slightest that Sigurd is watching. On the contrary, it excites Ivar to know his brother is tormented by watching and not touching. He pulls away, drifting kisses across her unmarred neck. His hand disappears between her skirts by her guiding hand.

“Be my wife.” His brother whispers, and among her gentle moans, he can hear her soft lips spreading in a gentle praise. Praises that Ivar did not deserve. He deserved them. They should have been his.

“Come show me how you will fill me with child for our wedding day, Ivar.” She pushed away his hand and stood up. Ivar grasps his crutch and stands with minimal effort. With only a light trail of her fingers around Sigurd’s shoulders, she bent down to his ear.

“Goodnight my dear friend.”

It was then that he knew he lost her.


	7. Peasant Boy (Hvitserk!NSFW)

You lost the times your body melded against your husband’s. His hips would snap deep inside with a hypnotic roll. Your legs dangled over his firm shoulders, bouncing as he fucked into you. Your nails leave bloody scratches down one of his arms, subdued only by a leash of rough rope that cut off any oxygen to your brain. The colors exploded in your eyes in slur greens and bitter oranges, triggering your release around his dick striking deep into your tight channel. He sucks in breath and shudders with powerful thrusts pushing you over your limit. Your fingers down to your toes are fuzzy with excitement, riding wave after wave until you felt… warm.

Just warm.

“Ahh… no,” You hear. The spots in your vision gradually disappear. Hvitserk’s hips are still against you. You immediately knew that he had done something. He gave you that look. The one where he might have or might not have eaten off your plate. Or that he might have been boasting around the Great Hall. He pants heavily, rolling his lower lip into his mouth and looks away like a guilty dog with a pet bird inside his jaws. 

“Hvitserk…?” You stutter, pulling the soft blue fabric of your dress over your knees. He grasps your hands from lifting the dress up completely. It’s inevitable that you’ll find out what he’s done.

“I’m… sorry my wife.” His voice cracks unsure whether to laugh or cry knowing the punishment coming his way. His softened cock pulls away from your warm tunnel with a string of his warm seed. You could feel it seeping down.

“Damn it Hvitserk! I told you not to cum inside! I just gave birth weeks ago.” You shove him back. He plops back while you finger the cum in your drenching your vaginal walls in partial disgust. Hvitserk gave you a toothy smile as if shamefully proud.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t expect it so quick! Your body milks me like a goddess.” He says in his own defense, kissing your toes in soft apologies. When you don’t outright deck him off the bed in a punch, he takes the all clear to inch closer and closer until his arms wind about you.

“You are a goddess! My goddess, how could I resist an offering?” He trills handsomely.

You look up to him unamused. 

“I still do not forgive you, peasant boy.”


	8. Imagine revealing your pregnancy to Hvitserk

You hadn’t eaten all week. The stress of civil war in between this divided family was enough to keep your stomach ill at ease. It wasn’t the only reason, however. You confided in Ivar the reason why you couldn’t set out on horse or lead a portion of his army. 

“I’m with child,” You stand before Ivar in a bundle of hot nerves, drawing your hand over your slight distended stomach. For such a witty man, his jaw dropping was certainly not what you expected. He quickly composed himself. 

“You will tell Hvitserk?” Ivar’s nails drew into his chair as he leaned forward. Bjorn and Lagertha retreated. You should have nothing to fear now of course. 

“Tell me what?” Someone says— Hvitserk himself, it must have been. You look desperately into Ivar, whose lips have sealed tight. He drops back into his chair, staring triumphantly outwards with his head held high. Nothing could tear him down after such a victory. 

“Ah.” You stutter. Hvitserk comes to stop in front of you. Your hands are clammy and you step back, your head swimming in anxious thought. 

“Have you been sleeping with him?” Hvitserk elevates his eyebrows, peering to Ivar. His arm falls on yours and the few people in the room scurry out like animals in the brush. Ivar says nothing, looking as if his brother is the one digging himself a new hole to lie in. 

“I only have eyes for you.” You say, reassuring him. Ivar snaps his fingers, pointing down to you as if to command his brother to listen. Ivar manages his crutches and limps out of the room. 

You peer up at him through your wet lashes, unaware that you’ve begun to cry. “I am pregnant.” You say, your toes casting circles on the cold floor. Hvitserk shifts his weight back onto the heel of his foot before to the balls, bouncing in place. 

“You are telling me the truth?” He asks holding your palms. For eating nothing at all this week, you feel a bout of strength. You nod enthusiastically, feeling as if for a brief moment the stress of this war rolls off his back. 

“Then I am going to be a father?” Hvitserk says shortly after, his chest swelling pridefully as he pulls you in tight. The warmth radiating from his body heats not only your skin, but your heart that radiates in pride. 

“Of course you will be.” 

Hvitserk makes a charmed face, the one where you are sure that regardless of anything out there, the Hvitserk in here will take care of it. Hvitserk’s arm shoes you out of the room to where mead and ale are in supply, shieldmaidens dance and even Ivar rejoices. 

“Then come, we have two victories to celebrate tonight. You’ll sit on my lap like a prize!” Hvitserk shouts among the warriors, throwing one arm into the air while the other falls to your full womb for a soft tickle. 

“And you too.”


	9. Imagine not wanting Hvitserk to save you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uploading from my tumblr. I’m basically only on there lately.

Strike after strike buckled your shield. The heels of your boots took on mud of the battlefield as a hulking man took after you. In your bloodied hand was your axe, prepared at your side to strike back when your shield cracked apart. The wood splintered your arms and you instinctually hopped back while minding the positions of others. The smell of your own blood sunk into your brain, pulsing a warning that you were going to die. The ravens hovering above turned their beady eyes upon your staggering form. Their wings spread wide, casting a shadow over the battlefield. Hugin and Munin were here to take you home to Valhalla. They were here for you.

Finally. You were so tired.

You slunk forth bouncing the axe in your hand. It wouldn’t be much longer. The man swung at you, missing once. On the second his blade collided into not you, but another shield. There was no third strike. Blood splattered over the strands of your braided ponytail down to the firmness of your upper chest in fresh blood that contrasted against the old.

“(Y/N)!” You recognized it as Prince Hvitserk calling out to you, shoving you away from the carnage. Your limbs were heavy as Hugin and Munin fluttered away.

He was most definitely enraged when you made it back to camp. Your side was thick with blood that stained your armor. Hvitserk gripped your elbow firmly, tugging you back out of the public eye of the other warriors and shieldmaidens alike.

“You were not supposed to be in the main lines. What were you doing out there?” Hvitserk interrogates as your hand came to your raw side. With such blood running over your fingers, his words only serve to aggravate you.

“Neither were you. You disobeyed Ivar. He could give a rats ass less if I died.” You pull back from him and gesture down to the slice that reached down from the bend in your stomach down towards the junction of your hip to leg. 

“When did you become this hateful?” Hvitserk mutters into your ear.  
Ahhh 

“When you stopped caring for me. I do not want to be here any longer, how can you not see? Why did you save me?!” You shove him back, smacking the side of his head. He leans his upper body back waiting for you to elaborate. You cast him an exasperated sigh and limp away from him back toward the ruckus of camp. The aroma of meat, prattle of horny men and women, and the lack of interrogation all seem much more attractive than talking to a man that couldn’t see. There was no way he could understand. It’s as if he couldn’t comprehend your question. His eyes dart about and he steps forth. 

“Because I can’t stand the thought of losing you!” Hvitserk yells. 

You stop. Blinking furiously to comprehend your words, you fiddle anxiously with the axe still in your hand. How could he stand the thought, when he was with Margrethe? Now that she was gone he had complaints? You turn to chuck the axe at him. It clanks against the wood behind him. An angry frown makes its way to your lips. 

“You only say that now that you have lost what you had.” You say, stumbling back towards him. “You say that now that you don’t have her on your lap.

Hvitserk falls into a thoughtful silence with your face in front of his. Your eye is sporting a purplish bruise from what must have been an ill placed headbutt and you are peppered by blood. It’s unlike any state he’s seen Margrethe in. You look like a warrior, like a queen. His hand cups the angle of your jaw. 

“I say it because you own my thoughts. Wherever you go, I go. I can’t help myself when you walk away. You own my heart.” Hvitserk casts back, snaking his hand to the back of your head. The words spoken lightly and truthfully swell your heart. You reach around to grab his shirt, pulling him close. Your lips meet his, cutting off his breath in one smooth and quick kiss that left him staggering closer for more. 

“If you mean it, you will prove it.”


	10. Imagine Hvitserk being a thief

As a one time thrall to Aslaug, you were well used to her boys daily antics. None like Hvitserk’s however, who at this moment had just burst through the room. Several thralls were knocked over as he careened past them. Your fingers still on the strings of a loom as he tosses what was Sigurd’s Oud over to you cackling richly. You caught it out of fear of what could happen if you didn’t.

“I don’t want this from you,” You say hugging it close to your chest. 

“Take it, take it!” You heard him say as he ducks behind you for shelter. 

“He’s coming.” Ubbe stands by the doorway, leaning with his furs draped around his neck. 

“You are high! Have you been taking those herbs again?” You bite back when Sigurd’s loud and heavy steps alert you to his impending presence. Immediately you drift back to sit on a stool to shield Hvitserk from his younger brother. Your skirts hike over the entirety of the stool as you flip the Oud over and readjust its strings as Sigurd once showed you. 

“Where is he?!” Sigurd shrills as he comes in. Beneath you, Hvitserk’s chilly hands drift up your calf. Gradually he tickles you with soft spirals etched into your skin. Not now, you think. 

“Hello Sigurd.” You set you hand against the one tightly wound about his axe. 

“Why do you have my Oud?” Sigurd breathes out, his chest raising and falling from his run here. The hands gradually coursing up your knees make it even more tempting to sell out Hvitserk. He knows what he’s doing. He isn’t a child anymore. 

“Hvitserk said you wanted to teach me some more.” You lean forward, batting your eyelashes at him. For a moment, Sigurd actually believes such a thing. He walks around your stool in a lazy stroll before grunting and coming back to face you. 

“Then let’s go somewhere private.” Sigurd kneels before you, extending his hand out to yours. Hvitserk’s hand is now at your thigh. 

“I… I should put away my things first.” You stutter.

When you don’t get up, Sigurd throws up your skirts. His hand shoots to the ones on your upper thigh. When he flashes your legs to the others, you crack your palm across his cheek in a slap. Sigurd’s face snaps to the side. And when that happens, Hvitserk’s cheeky smile glimmers from the space between your legs.

“Well… this is awkward.”


	11. Imagine Hvitserk wanting to establish his paternity

“Tell me he is mine.” 

“Hvitserk, I do not want to talk about it right now.” 

Since you gave birth, he had been relentless. He trailed after you like a hungry dog to its next meal asking you things that were never his business. Whether you were in town or out, he sought to establish his paternal rights to the child. The baby in question was nestled on your breast popping off your breast from his last meal. As hungry as Hvitserk, that was only a part of a reason why he thought the child was his. You stormed down a hill with a hand keeping the baby tight in his sling. Hvitserk chased after you.

“He is mine, isn’t he?” Hvitserk abruptly grabbed your arm. You sighed and hooked your kill of rabbit on the belt that draped over your dress. Hvitserk’s other hand grasped your other arm. He wants to know, you think. Of course, he wanted to know. Any man would want to know. So in the most dignified way you can, you set your hand on your hips and leaned up to him in confidence. 

“Do I look loose to you?” You ask. You have that face. The one Hvitserk finds too cute. Your nose flares just slightly and your eyebrows knit up tight. But what he thinks is most adorable, is the way your lips purse together. Despite your short height, you try to scare him with a small bounce to your toes.

“No, of course not.” Hvitserk holds back his laugh, backing up to every subsequent jab of your fingers against his slender chest. His lips pull up into a delighted grin when you finally sass off to him.

“Then of course he is yours. You come here asking me stupid questions because of your brothers, scaring away the kill.” You wipe a bloodied hand on his chest, dropping it back to your side when you finish speaking.   
It doesn’t even faze him.The words spilled out of his lips so quick, you could barely process them.

“Then you will marry me?” Hvitserk cups over your sticky hand, holding it tight. The feelings of rage and anger dropped. Instead your lips parted in disbelief. Will you marry him? Your hand swung to his cheek, cupping the side of his face and leaning in for a kiss. 

“Of course I’ll marry you, you fool.”


	12. Imagine a messy Hvitserk

He had no idea why she was so angry at him. 

Since he got up that morning, he could tell something was on her mind. She was curt with him, wouldn’t let him give her kisses and worst of all, she refused to help him in any of her usual affection filled tasks. One of which being his hair that sat wild down his back, flopped over his eyes. His fingers moved sloppily down a braid, flipping over the strand to find a loose weave and pieces of his hair plucking out like wheat in the field. He tossed the many sloppy braids back over his shoulders and approaches the Great Hall with a deep wavering breath.   
The moment he walked in it was a mistake.

The Great Hall was ruefully busy. As he pushed his way through bunches of crowded groups, his eyes fell upon his beautiful wife chattering away with Margrethe. Her hair braided to the side in thick portions. The weave isn’t tight, but none of the hairs stick out like his. He sees she’s gone the extra mile by braiding flowers down in a line along her hair. Show off. 

Finally he makes his way to the table his family sat at. His brothers argue about something lackluster while the girls ignore him entirely. He opts to sit beside Ubbe instead of beside his wife when he feels tension straining at the base of his skull.

“Hvitserk!” Bjorn pulls at one of his braids in a flick of his wrist, the force of his tug nearly knocking him off his feet. Ivar turns his shoulder to his brother with his tongue coursing past the droplets of ale on his lips.

“Poor Hvitserk, what has happened to you?” Ivar looks over his normally trim appearance. For Hvitserk, it was bizarre not to see everything in its place. At least in the way he dressed. 

“What?” Hvitserk plays dumb, rearranging his belt. It wasn’t his clothes that were the issue. He could often manage to dress himself fine, it was his braids that often served troubling.

“It was not (Y/N) that dressed you today, huh? What poor thrall did you ask to?” Ivar says. Hvitserk looks over at (Y/N). A wide, prideful giggle spreads apart her lips like she knows that no one helped him tonight. Hvitserk plops back into his seat by Ubbe, ignoring her smug smiles. 

“No one. My lovely wife told Inga not to help me.” Hvitserk reminds, reaching to his cup. He swipes it up a little more forcefully than he meant to, and the liquid overturns into his willowy hands. Hvitserk ignored the spill opting to lap his sticky hand with his tongue.  
“And she listened?” Sigurd asks raspily. Hvitserk lightly looks down to his bowl while a thrall fills it with a thick porridge. 

“She is more afraid of angering (Y/N) than angering me.” Hvitserk says well aware of the wrath that fell anyone he flirted with. Over the years he learned not to do that. But yesterday was admittedly a blur. Was that why you tormented him? Ubbe runs his fingers through the weak braiding of his brother’s hair with a wicked smile tugging at his lips. 

“Ubbe what is so funny?” Hvitserk says in warning. His wife finished eating a light meal and went back to gossiping with Margrethe when Ubbe leans into his brother’s ear in a hushed whisper. Over the thralls weaving in and out with drinks, one can barely hear his words. 

“What have you done to anger (Y/N), who never angers?” Ubbe suggests. Hvitserk snorts at that, reclining back in his chair. Obviously ‘never’ was a lie.   
“How am I to know? She never tells me. She wants me to figure it out.” Hvitserk shrugs. Ubbe looks over to (Y/N), when she cuts in.

“It was our anniversary, Ubbe, and he got so piss drunk I had to carry him home.” She says, setting down her cup with a ‘clang.’ Maybe that part of yesterday was a blur. Maybe he did have a little bit too much to drink. Across the table, Sigurd makes a folded his arms one over the other and settled back. 

“No wonder she’s left you like this.” Sigurd throws Hvitserk a dismissive glance.

“You would drink too if you had a beautiful wife to share your drinks with. My wife makes me need another drink from her lips every night.” Hvitserk quips. He threaded his hand through his messy braids, unweaving them back out as he spoke. 

“Come here.” His wife says. Glancing over, he finds his wife extending her arms to him. In place of the scowl she expected out of him, her face lost the sassy quality it contained all evening, and bore a soft smile pulling up her rosy cheeks. He almost felt like an anxious pup to its mother as he darts out of his chair and into her arms. She smells of the salty sea air in her hair and perhaps a few flowers of the fields that all remind him of home. 

“You never could braid,” She murmurs into his ear, loosening the last of his braids. Hvitserk gives a toothy, dumb smile. 

“That is why I need you.” He meets her words just as eagerly, stealing his first kiss of the day.


	13. A Thousand Times NO!

Among the many ships that docked at the harbor, yours was one of the few new arrivals. The boat bobbed as you stepped off away from the salty water and to the sturdy planks of Kattegat’s busy pier. The women and men beside you rushed a glittering trunk of gold and other riches off of the boat. You command them to take it to the Great Hall when you felt arms encircling around your waist. The breathless sensation of your feet leaving the ground whipped the wind out of your lungs. You never liked it much, but got used to the event when you came to Kattegat. By now, it was second nature that you knew who it was. You laughed as you fell back into the man’s arms, slapping his wrists repeatedly. 

“Hvitserk stop!” You roared in laughter. 

“Why should I? Hmm?” Hvitserk rests a kiss against the back of your head before turning you around. His lips collide against yours in a warm, prideful kiss. He parts when your hand forms a fist on his chest and gives him one firm shove. Your other hand travels behind your back to the hand squeezing your round ass behind your trousers. 

“You stop that or you won’t get any while I’m here. Hello Ubbe, Sigurd.” You scold before you turn to face away from Hvitserk again. His hands intertwined along your waist. 

“Earl (Y/N).” Sigurd smiles fondly at you past Ubbe’s deep humming. 

“I’m sure Mother saw that.” Ubbe rasps to the two of you. His voice was one that made your knees quake though you supposed that was why you had more than a few encounters with the two. After smacking the hungry dog that was Hvitserk off your body, you straighten out your armor and walk forward to find Aslaug sitting with her last son, Ivar. They both watched the pier and the many men and women that reunited with their families. 

“Queen Aslaug,” You say, bending down onto one knee before her. Ivar strokes her hand as if consoling her. Her face was etched in displeasure with the furrow of her delicate eyebrows. Suddenly you know that this is going to be a long, dreadful talk. 

“Hello, (Y/N). Back from the raid?” She suggests. You shrug your shoulders and stand, setting your hands on your hips near the belt of weapons. Raiding was your life, you couldn’t imagine waking up and waving off the shieldmaidens and other warriors. 

“As always.” You lament. Raiding was easy, being here was the problem. 

“Yes… shield maidens and men are one in the same, always eager to get out.” Aslaug says with a hint of malice edging her voice. You knew why she was here and gently sighed. The dreams, or night terrors as you called them, hadn’t ebbed since you last left Kattegat’s shores. 

“I know now what you want.” You give a long, tired sigh. 

“Less of what I want and more of what the gods have in store for you. Have you given any thought to conceiving?” There it was.

“If I were to have a child, I could not raid. You are a good mother Aslaug, you don’t know the itch I feel when I’m on shore.” You pace with light footsteps one after the other. At least not for a few years anyways. Aslaug bobs her head in a nod. For once, you feel that she might understand you. When you were ashore too long without raiding, it felt like someone was drowning you out. 

“It is true. But… I would help you.” Aslaug reassures. Your heart drops and you stop pacing, looking to her with nothing but malice. 

“Ah help me like you helped Bjorn?” You find yourself spitting the words out her before you could control them. 

“Shut up!” Ivar lurches in his chair. Your hand meets the axe on your belt, staring him down skeptically. Aslaug’s lips are sealed shut, her hand across her son’s chest now. You gnaw on your cheek, the taste of blood oozing into your mouth. You don’t apologize. 

“Nonetheless I can’t run from the gods forever.” You draw your hand away from your axe when Ivar stills by the mention of the gods. It often cools his agitated nerves. Aslaug pridefully raises her head at that ideal. 

“If it is fate, then it will be… and I will be here. You will have twins, it is a gift. I have seen these things. So have you.” She croons. It doesn’t feel like much of a gift and you give her a slight disenchanted smile. 

“If you say so. I am going to shower. Goodbye Queen Aslaug.” You rush the words and make your escape. The skies above you stretch far away. All you ever wanted to be was a shieldmaiden and now it feels squandered by the ever present reminder of the gods. You thought of seeing the seer, but it would be more of the same. He would dance around you with words you couldn’t understand. When you didn’t understand something, it often just enraged you. The call of your name behind you draws you to pause.

“Has mother really seen these things? Have you?” Hvitserk runs up your fingers wrapped tightly against your blade, a nervous tick. Your fingers loosen and fall away to your sides. 

“Two blonde boys.” You say in distaste for the prophecy. Hvitserk’s long tongue courses his lower lip. His willowy fingers run across the front of your armour, reaching your stomach. There he massages the dark fabric stretched across your stomach and he drops onto his knees before you.

“Then she doesn’t know I’ve already done it,” Hvitserk says with a quick and soft kiss to your stomach. The hot stares of the people of Kattegat bore into your back. You can hear the girls gossiping and the merchants chuckling, all guessing just why he is talking to your stomach. It isn’t like he hadn’t taken you in all manners in Kattegat. 

“Hvitserk, stand up. I am not pregnant.” You warn with a rub to the back of your hot neck. By far, you weren’t a woman that enjoyed these sort of feminine wiles. Being the center of attention for the wrong reasons didn’t appeal to you. Now with the young thralls giggling away, you feel the need to go after them. 

“You are in denial. I know you are.” Hvitserk corrects, popping back up onto his feet in a jaunty bounce. 

“You’ve been feeding in to too much of your mother’s prattle.” You accuse. Hvitserk stretches his arms behind his head before falling into a heavy shrug. 

“Perhaps. But you will see (Y/N). You’ll finally accept my proposal and be my wife.” Hvitserk throws back. How many times had he offered? You lost count. The more he offered, the harder your heels dug into the sand like a stubborn mule. 

“I will not marry you Hvitserk Lothbrok!” You shrill with all the air of your lungs and turn on your heel, pushing past the many thralls that stood by to admire the sight. Ubbe came to rest by his younger brother, setting his hand on his smaller shoulder. They exchanged a playful glance from one to another, knowing that as much as you might have fought becoming Princess of Kattegat, it was soon to come.

“Still in denial, is she?” Ubbe chuckles.

“Always.”


	14. Imagine Ragnar as an overprotective father

When Gyda died everything changed. It all fell apart. Your mother and father were faced with a strange woman who, in your eyes, needed so many warriors because she could not protect herself. A woman ought to be able to protect herself, mother showed you that. Yet for your father’s sake, you kept your mouth sealed just as you thought you should. For father and your new brothers… you stayed behind. Bjorn needed your mother and you needed father. 

“I am fine! Father stop!” 

You wrestle onto your side away from him. There by your feet he sat, his hands on his knees, flinching at every cough that hacked its way up your throat. At an especially nasty one he crawled to your side of the bed like a bear to its cub, slapping his hands around your waist to hold you tight.

“Father please! I cannot take this constant stuffy affection.” Your clammy hands press at Ragnar’s chest. He ignored your calls for him to stop cuddling, only nestling his head against yours with a bump of your heads together. Eventually your squirming protests subsided into a bout of stubborn pouting when you realized that it was fruitless. 

“Once you are well, I will leave.” He says as he fiddles with a soft wave of your hair between his fingertips. 

“I am not Gyda…” Your words catch in your throat tensely. There is a great lull, and eventually Ragnar hovers over you with his heavy lidded eyes. You felt in the middle of your two siblings. Gyda was the one who flew away to the gods and Bjorn was his shining light of the heavens as his son. Now they were both gone. 

“I did not say you were (Y/N).” He says after a passing of moment. 

“You hover over me.” You reprimand when your father clicks his tongue sharply. He drops like a weight is on his shoulders back onto the bed. When his eyes slide back open, his crystalline eyes look into yours. 

“You are all I have left.” Ragnar admits. 

“No, you have Ubbe and Hvitserk. And that woman can give you more and more children, that is why you fancied her over mother.” Your tongue glides over your dry lips. ‘That woman,’ was Aslaug. You knew her name, but it pained your lips like the scalding ache of a hot brand newly taken off the fire. Your father inhales sharply enough that you knew he was about to reprimand you. 

“Aslaug,” Your lips part and you say her name. The word hitches your breath and aches in a deep place within your heart. It wasn’t completely her fault, it was his too. Ragnar releases his breath and the both of you look up the the ceiling chasing the patterns above.

“No. Aslaug was witty and beautiful, I could not help myself. I did not choose her over your mother. If the gods would allow it, I would have kept both my wives.” He explains. There is a vast confusion in your heart over what this meant. The men in town, they did not have many wives. Some earls, you were told, did. Neither Lagertha or Aslaug seemed to be tolerant of your father’s advances towards other women. So was it natural to have one or the other? 

“Then one day, is it right that my husband will too have many wives?” You ask, rubbing your nose against the edge of your sleeve. His thoughts bounced above his head. Witty replies of how you should aim for a man better than he or focus on your dream of being a shield maiden. But in the end Ragnar stutters in defeat, settling to slide a few locks of your hair behind your ear. 

“No, because you won’t have one. Now shut up and rest.”


	15. Imagine Ragnar not letting you marry

With time, all things change. With time you became fonder of Aslaug and she grew into her role as your step mother. With time, Ragnar’s heart fell to the changes in your body. Your trim figure became one he loathed. As your curves filled out he also noticed the attention other men, no boys, put on you. With you as his only daughter, he felt the need to protect you no matter what the cause was. 

“Mother tell him to stop!” You came in as she rocked Sigurd in her arms. Ever since Bjorn and Ragnar came home, it had been a nightmare for you between Jarl Borg, King Horik, and now the newfound rage of the older men of your family. Ragnar and Bjorn came in after, faces stained with dried blood. Ragnar took up a round bowl of water and brought it over his face to clean. You eventually dropped by where Siggy was helping Aslaug with the boys. 

“On what account?” Aslaug chirps in an amused chuckle. You grab Ubbe and set him on your lap, winding your arms around his tiny figure. Bjorn’s gentle features pulled in a bemused glimmering smile that reflected in his eyes as he wiped his blade clean of blood. 

“They’re brutalizing the men that are interested in me!” You exclaim while holding Ubbe tight. Ragnar scratches his chin, lifting up his face from the red tinged water. 

“They come into my hall asking for the hand of my only daughter. If they can pay your dowry, they can pay the price of showing me they are worthy. It isn’t like I set a bear after them.” Ragnar works the red out of his beard. It’s not like they had to do what he did for Lagertha’s hand. 

“No, you sent Bjorn Ironside after them. How is that not worse?” You suggest, flicking your hand out at your father. 

“I can send your uncle instead.” He responds. You snap your tongue against the roof of your mouth, snuggling up to Ubbe like a pet. As if you could find anyone when your father was prowling around seeking who else we could devour. 

“At this rate I’ll only be able to marry Athelstan.” You bury yourself in Ubbe’s blonde hair. Aslaug sets her warm hands to your shoulders, rubbing your shoulders apologetically. It’s her silent way of acknowledging your pain but when she lacks words, you know she sides with the older men of your family. 

“It could be arranged.” Ragnar approves while stepping away from the bowl. You loved Athelstan as you loved your uncle Rollo. The thought of marrying him churned your stomach. 

“Father stop!” 

“It was only a suggestion.” Ragnar chides softly, dropping beside you. Ubbe wiggles around to face you. You comb his soft hair away from his eyes when he speaks. Bjorn looks up from his blade when little Ubbe speaks, his eyes beaming pridefully as he raises his hand to his chest. 

“You could marry me!”

You start to think being single forever is looking very damn good.


End file.
